


Crisco 129

by Trefoil_9



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angstangstangst, Awkward Romance, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dadster, Dancing, Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, Family, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy kissing, Gaster as a terrible/excellent father?, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kissing, M/M, Past Torture, Sans and Grillby live together (platonically) ((at least AT FIRST)), Sans has a pirate radio station, Secrets, Toriel helps him broadcast it and they send each other puns over the internet, Trust, also flufflufffluff, broken papyrus, if by declarations you mean utter inability on both sides to spit it out, past dadster present deadster, roommate crush, sansby - Freeform, w/ the occasional pun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-02-08 04:59:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12857250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trefoil_9/pseuds/Trefoil_9
Summary: Sans and Grillby co-own a diner on the outskirts of Subsection Twelve, previously Snowdin Township. Sans, as one might expect, has his share of secrets. One is that he illegally broadcasts a radio talk show every morning which satirizes the oppressive government, boosts monster morale and occasionally passes on coded information to the Resistance when other channels are not open. The other is that he's desperately in love with his fiery roommate, who appears to have his own share of secrets.Additionally, Papyrus is mysteriously absent. Sans is not OK with this.





	1. Eggs

Early morning, before sunrise. Sans was in his safe room, the only light from his glowing eyes and the computer screen in front of him. Wires snaked over the side of the table down to the small generator purring beneath it. The computer’s case was made of mismatched pieces of plywood hammered together. Sans had made it himself over a period of years, kludging together all the parts he possibly could from unlikely materials, only buying on the black market when he absolutely had to. Monsters were not allowed to use technology in the Confederation. The resulting machine didn’t look like it should run, but it did.

Sans typed carefully, letters jumping onto the black screen. The keyboard was ‘real’, he’d found it in a dump—it hadn’t been considered an important enough part to be confiscated and destroyed. Half of the original keys were missing and had been replaced, partly with mismatched keys of various colors, partly with carefully carved chunks of wood.

>knock knock.

>Who’s there?

>who

>..Who, who?

>hey. listen. i think i heard an owl.

>Haha!

>owls are said to be wise. i wonder if it has anything to tell us.

>Oh I don’t know how wise this old bird is, but she does have a word to pass along. 

>what’ve we got today?

>Greenleaf.

>greenleaf eh. that need to be it? can it be a bit different? green leaves, green-leafed?

>It needs to be as close to the original as possible.

>makes sense. who comes up with this stuff?

>I don’t know. Not me, certainly. I’m more of a parrot than an owl, I’m afraid.

>oh I disagree my wise lady.

>You flatterer. Do you have the song downloaded?

>yes ma’am. i’m ready when you are.

>You’re secure and ready to broadcast once I receive a signal.

>ok. let’s rock.

Sans navigated to the jump drive and played the audio file the old lady had sent him, then reached for his headset and slipped it on. The serene sound of a guitar being plucked swam through his skull. He leaned back in his chair, relaxing, preparing.

_Almost heaven, West Virginia_

John Denver. He snapped his fingers, smiling.

_Country roads, take me home  
To the place I belong _

A pain like homesickness twitched in his soul.

Another line of text appeared on the black screen.

>You’re live in 10.

The music was winding down.

>When you’re ready.

Sans adjusted the mic and began talking, disguising his voice with a lazy New York accent.

“Heya everyone, it’s the great legendary fartmaster of doom here to tell ya it’s a fine day in the Confederation. Cats are swingin, dogs are singin. Good times. The greenleaf tree in my yard looks like heaven on earth, somehow. Funny how plants just keep growing. They have a kind of primal strength in ‘em. Maybe we have too.”

He kept on for half an hour, telling jokes and encouragement, lampooning the Confederation. He never planned these talks, they seemed to go better if they were ad-libbed, especially since the old lady might give him something that he’d have to fit in somehow at the last minute.

When the half hour was up he deleted the audio file from the jump drive and powered down the generator and by extension the machine, which didn’t have a battery, then teleported upwards. He landed in a bare bedroom with two beds. One was neatly made and had a petrified look suggesting it had been that way for a long time. One had its sheets in a wad and smelled of Sans.

Sans shrugged out of his pajamas and put on his work clothes; slacks, a collared shirt and a vest. The slacks and the shirtsleeves were both liberally rolled. He padded to the window silently and peered out under the curtains. There was a faint light in the east. There was no green-leafed tree, only dust plains and barbed wire. They were right on the border, in the area that had once been called Snowdin Township and was now Subsection Twelve. One of the Monster ghettos.

He scooted his feet into his shoes, tapped them on the floor to shake them into place, and went downstairs, soul pulse quickening a little at the thought of the next part of his day.

He entered the kitchen, which was a blaze of light. As usual, Grillbz was already up, heating the griddle and prepping for the day. He was wearing similar clothes to Sans, but looked much better in his outfit, Sans thought. He paused in the doorway a moment to look at him. Then he shook himself out of it and stepped forwards.   
“How many eggs we eating today?” he asked conversationally. Grillbz, looking up, smiled at him and began cracking eggs onto the griddle.  
“Eighteen,” he said. Sans walked over to stand next to him and stood on his tiptoes to look at the sizzling eggs. Grillbz kept snatching up the next and breaking it: half of the griddle was covered in egg.  
“Eighteen?”  
“I need something to keep these flames burning.”  
“That stuff’s rationed.”  
“Not here.” Grillbz smiled down at him, and moved sideways to snag another carton of eggs, pressing against Sans in the process. Sans felt a sudden chill, then a spreading warmth entirely independent of the adjacent fire. The outside of his arm and part of his side were in contact with Grillbz, he could feel the heat sinking through his clothes. He didn’t move away.  
“I know what I can get away with,” said Grillbz, cracking the eighteenth egg and then flipping them all one at a time, starting with the first he’d cracked. “Nobody actually checks our numbers. Just trust me on this. How many do you want?”  
“Two.”  
Grillbz cracked two eggs onto the bottom of the griddle where they would be easily reachable by short arms. Then he paused and looked down at Sans. Sans suddenly realized that he’d been unconsciously leaning into the touch since Grillbz brushed against him. Ah fuck that’s awkward.  
Grillbz leaned down and kissed him on the mouth. Then he straightened, scooped his eggs onto a plate and walked out.

 

**A/N:**

**\--End of original dream. This has been embellished but not materially changed: I added the dialogue, in the dream I had only the sense of it without the words. I added a lot of details about Sans’ radio talk. Similarly, I didn’t think of the exact number of eggs in the dream, just ‘heck bro that’s a lot of eggs’. <br />**   
**Overall, I was surprised at how candid it was even without the necessary editing to make it good prose. Subsection Twelve I named, when awake, after the Snowdecahedron in the game—and not (consciously) after District Twelve.**

**I woke and, still semiconscious and very fascinated by the candid and storylike nature of this dream, created the rest of the story more or less consciously. It's been posted on Tumblr but I'm in the process of implementing minor edits and posting all chapters here.--**

**Art that I saw before going to sleep and having this dream, which probably, along with various other things, inspired it to some extent:[Sans in a Vest](http://literalnobody.tumblr.com/post/146801567514/sans-gets-a-summer-job-to-work-off-that-tab)**

**If you've been on Tumblr recently you're probably seen people freaking out about[this](https://www.savetheinternet.com/net-neutrality-what-you-need-know-now). If not... well now you've seen it. Educate yourself. December 14 is coming up. **


	2. Memories

Sans found Grillbz at a table by the window in the diner, still shut and deserted. Grillbz’ warm glow was the only light except a greyish color from the window. The sun was on its way.  
Grillbz glanced at him, smiled, and kept eating. Was he purposefully avoiding eye contact? Sans sat opposite him and started on his own eggs. He needed some time to process this as well. And they didn’t have time to talk.  
It took Sans the same amount of time to finish his two eggs as it took Grillbz to finish his own helping, then Grillbz disappeared into the kitchen to prep while Sans unlocked the door and turned lights on.

They served guards on border patrol, almost invariably humans, but a few dead-eyed monsters as well. It wasn’t a bad setup—as Grillbz had pointed out, they were allowed a generous portion of the better type of food, and most of the humans viewed them either as furniture or pets: Sans had only been threatened once, not counting a couple of drunken jests late at night on weekends. He’d heard someone say  
“Think I can land it between his ribs?”  
from behind him and turned, not liking the sound of it. A heavy breadknife slammed into his side, glanced off and clattered on the floor. He fell backwards, partly from shock, partly from the force: he was not a heavy monster. He stood quickly and stumbled into the back. Grillbz was humming. He glanced over.  
“What?”  
“Help me.”  
Sans unbuttoned his vest and pulled his shirt up.  
“..What.”  
He exhaled. It wasn’t bad. One rib bruised, one chipped with a hairline crack. Grillbz knelt in front of him, taking in the damage.  
“What happened?” Grillbz asked.  
“Someone threw a bread knife at me,” said Sans, pulling his shirt back down. He laughed. “It’s fine, just startled me. I can—“  
Grillbz stood suddenly, walked to the door and flung it open. Sans tensed.  
Grillbz didn’t slam the door, only swung it briskly open, but to Sans, who had spent a lot of time around him, he might as well have. His movements were always precise and controlled.  
“Who did it?” he growled, standing in the doorway.  
Fuck, thought Sans, what’s he going to do? He can’t start a fight, he’ll get us all arrested. He scrambled up to stand behind Grillbz, who hadn’t moved.  
The café, previously bustling, was quiet, and practically empty.  
Steve, one of the regulars, finished sipping his coffee before slowly lowering the mug back to the table and glancing at Grillbz.  
“It was Donivan and some of his buddies.”  
Grillbz was frowning now in confusion.  
“And where did they go…?”  
“I wouldn’t worry about it.”  
There was a muffled thudding noise from the side of the building, and some considerable swearing.  
Steve twitched the muscles around one eye and returned his attention to his coffee.  
Grillbz backed into the kitchen, steering Sans with a hand on his head. He took a moment to process what had happened, then smiled thinly.  
“Let’s get a bandage on that.”

Steve was back today, he came in when the light was still mostly grey. Grillbz waited on him himself, he’d stay in the kitchen later when things got busy. Sans walked to the window and looked out. It was a dry cold day. The sheets of ice dust hanging in the air were stained dull orange from the still-invisible sun. He could see the border: the fence itself was flimsy-looking here, simple chain link and razor wire, but there was no cover beyond, just dead waste. Snowdin was the end of the line.  
Grillbz was complaining about the scarcity of eggs. “Ridiculous,” said Steve. Grillbz glanced up for a moment, just long enough to make eye contact with Sans (at least, Sans counted it as eye contact. Grillbz’ eyes weren’t visible except as a flickering blur when he wore his glasses, but Sans had gotten used to reading him despite this.) He kept his poker face but Sans thought he detected a hint of smugness.

The orange dusty light deepened, slowly seeping into corners of the room and bringing out the warm tones in the floorboards. It trailed in through the door after the Guards, and Sans watched it hungrily. He was really watching for another body to appear behind theirs, tall, walking through the dust in a red scarf.  
It was unlikely he still had that.

He remembered being jammed into a cupboard with Papyrus, who was then smaller than him and fit comfortably between his knees. Sans’ face was pressed against the scarf, which smelled faintly of home. He thought of home: the gloss on the wood floors, the particular smell of the curtains in his father’s study. It had only been a few hours since they’d left it but already home had become a mythical place. There was a closet on the second floor that was still full of their mother’s clothes, Gaster had kept them and Sans had once found him sitting in there on the floor, face pressed into the fabric. Papyrus’ scarf had once belonged to her. He didn’t remember her at all, and Sans could only remember, in brief piercing flashes, her voice and her smell.  
That night Gaster hadn’t been back at the usual time, and when there was an unfamiliar knock at the door Sans wondered whether he ought to answer it. But someone whispered the password in Wingdings through the mail slot. He opened the door.  
It was one of the scientists who worked with dad. He looked a bit like a terrified cat on stilts.  
“Pack your things.”  
Sans spun Papyrus around and herded him back to their room. They’d drilled this. Papyrus still couldn’t do it in the prescribed two minutes without help, he kept getting distracted.  
“SANS WHICH SOCKS? STRIPES OR SQUIGGLES?”  
Sans batted the closest pair into the suitcase.  
“Those are fine.”  
The tall cat was waiting impatiently, pacing up and down. Sans grabbed Papyrus’ suitcase so it wouldn’t bang on every stair going down, slinging his own duffel bag across his body.  
“Where’s dad?” he asked. “Is he safe? Are we going to meet up with him?”  
“YEAH!”  
Shouted Papyrus. Sans shushed him.  
“He’s dead,” said the cat.  
Several seconds passed, then Sans understood with a sudden certainty that they were never coming back. The house became silent and strange around him.  
“And I need you to be absolutely silent and stay close behind me.”  
It was snowing as they followed him outside. Sans was plagued by an idea that, after all, and despite all the drills, he had forgotten something. Something terribly important. He couldn’t remember what it was.

Hiding in a cupboard was a welcome change to the cat’s fast-paced walking in the cold. It gave him a chance to hug Papyrus, and smell the smell of home clinging to his clothes.  
After a while there were voices in the room outside, and a warm light. Grillbz opened the door, looked at them blindingly for a moment, said “fuck” and slammed the door shut.  
There was a muffled, but only slightly muffled, argument from the other side of the door.  
“They’re kids, I can’t take care of kids.”  
“Just one, the other’s sixteen. He’ll help you out with the little guy.”  
“Why can’t you take them?”  
“Me? I’m surprised I was able to get them this far. They’re been rounding us up too. Everyone who worked with him. Heh, probably got the janitor. All you need to do is keep them safe, it’s more than I can do.”  
After a bit more whisper-shouting from both parties Grillbz opened the door a second time and looked at them.  
Sans recognized him. They’d been introduced at one point, though he couldn’t remember where or why.  
“Come with me?” he said at last, offering his hand. Papryus took it and staggered out of the cupboard.  
“WHERE?”  
Grillbz jumped.  
“Could you please not shout.”  
“I’M NOT SHOUTING!”  
Grillbz glanced at Sans, who was in the act of slithering ungracefully out of the cupboard. Sans gave him what he hoped was a ‘he’s always like that, be nice’ look. Grillbz appeared to understand.  
“Alright. Don’t say anything while we’re walking. We need to be quiet.”  
Grillbz pulled his hood down over his face and led them outside. Papyrus, mimicking the motion, hid in his scarf. It was still snowing heavily.

That was when Grillbz had the first place. The building would have fit four times into the new diner. He was working all of it himself because he didn’t feel like hiring anyone else.  
He removed his parka carefully, wincing when the encrusted snow brushed against his skin, slung it across the counter and crossed his arms. He wore all black in those days, his face and arms were the only things clearly visibly in the room. He looked at them for a few moments, as if unsure what to do with them, then nodded towards a table.  
“Sit.”  
Papyrus had reached for Sans’ hand at some point on their trip and Sans wasn’t about to let go now. He lifted Papyrus onto his lap and sat holding him.  
Grillbz looked at them, then down with a grunt. He pondered the floorboards for a few moments, looked back up.  
“How do you feel about waiting tables?”  
“Me?” said Sans. “Uh, fine.”  
“Good. Because that’s about all I can do for you.”  
“AND WHAT WILL I DO?” asked Papyrus after a pause.  
“You will stay out of sight as much as possible.”  
“OKAY!” he said, accepting his new mission immediately. Grillbz frowned at him and uncrossed his arms.  
“You know about your father.”  
“HE’S REALLY DEAD?”  
“Shush. Yes, and you must never speak of him.”  
“WHY NOT?”  
“Because he’s been erased. It’s now a crime to say his name. He can only be referred to as Entry 17, and that’s only if you know information that we’re not, technically, supposed to know. You’re better off pretending he never existed.”  
Papyrus stared at Grillbz.  
“BUT WHAT IF WE FORGET HIM? WHAT IF WE FORGET HIM LIKE WE FORGOT MOM? I DON’T WANT TO FORGET HIM!”  
His voice rose to a broken screech. Grillbz addressed his next words to the floorboards.    
“You can talk to your brother, or me, but only when no one else is around. You have to be certain of that.”  
“SANS!”  
“He’s probably right, let’s talk about this later, OK?”  
“BUT—BUT—BUT—BUT.”  
He began crying. Grillbz abruptly scooped up their bags and disappeared into what Sans had thought was a closet, but then he heard the creak of a staircase followed by two muffled thuds from above their heads. A moment later he reappeared.  
“You can sleep in my bed for tonight.”

The upstairs was a single room with a bed, a battered wardrobe and a few crates. It took half an hour for Papyrus to stop crying, after which he passed out. Sans scooted him under the covers and fell asleep next to him. Grillbz had disappeared and he didn’t care to check where.  
His next memory was of waking to a soft noise. Looking up, he saw Grillbz undressing with his back to him. He turned, and Sans saw a dull, almost grey-red patch on the gold of his upper left arm in the shape of numerals. 129.  
They had started marking monsters who’d been found suspicious and taken in for questioning, but recently the numbers were longer and had letters included. He must have been arrested early on. There should be a mark after the number showing why he’d been released: a dash for not enough information found, a star for good conduct—which amounted to betrayal. Sans couldn’t see it from where he was. He didn’t think it was a star. Maybe there was no mark, and he’d just done time for something minor. But Sans doubted that the Confederation would have been focusing on minor crimes within the first 200 arrests. Did they even bother with a mark for a minor crime-something for which you might actually be released without too much bargaining?  
Grillbz shrugged on a clean shirt and went downstairs, where Sans heard him moving around in the kitchen.

After a few weeks Sans had decided that he liked helping Grillbz, who, for his part, grudgingly admitted that it was easier to manage the diner with help. Two years later they had relocated to a larger building closer to the border, where border patrols came in a steady stream throughout the day, and Grillbz had made Sans his business partner and co-owner officially. They’d settled into a routine that worked for both of them; Sans did the talking, defused tension, made jokes, memorized orders and preferences and delivered food, and Grillbz cooked, cleaned and kept things organized. Either could switch if necessary and they both multitasked when things were busy.

The rest of the day passed quickly, and with no time for dreaming. By the time of the afternoon lull Sans was definitely ready to talk about that kiss, but Grillbz was still avoiding eye contact with a strange persistence. Sans hoped he wasn’t regretting it, and had to make a mental effort not to come up with multiple ways the situation could go horribly wrong. At the same time, he didn’t dare think about how… _right_ it could go, not until he’d gotten Grillbz to talk to him. And that was even harder.  
By closing time he’d wound down a little, mostly because some degree of burnout was inevitable after a full day of excited anticipation. He locked the door and closed the blinds, then tilted his head back, stretching out a crick in his neck. He heard movement somewhere close behind him.  
“Sa—“  
“YES”  
“—ns?”  
“Yeah yup? What? Sup?”  
He turned. Grillbz was standing a few feet away, near one of the empty tables, which was covered with crumbs and smears of Crisco.  
“….”  
What if he hadn’t even been aiming for Sans’ mouth. He’d been going to kiss him platonically on the forehead and then Sans moved at the last minute and messed it all up and now he was uncomfortable. Oh God that would be horrible.  
Grillbz slipped a pair of tokens out of his vest pocket and tossed them on the table with a small smirk. Sans picked them up.  
“Hey. Steve had a spare card for eggs? Sweet, that’s an extra two dozen past our allowed portion.”  
“Mm.”  
“So we’re back on track. Did you know he’d do that?”  
“Educated guess. But no.”  
“I don’t know how you do it.”  
Grillbz reached over and moved Sans’ hand so the tokens slid over each other, showing that the one on the bottom was different. Sans internally screeched, and was grateful that skeletons could not blush.  
“What.” He said. “Who the hell had a spare butter token?”  
“Also Steve.”  
“How?! This is for half a pound!”  
“Yes. He’s decided to donate it because he’s a nice fellow. But it’s just for him and the other officers.”  
“And you.”  
Grillbz smiled.  
“Naturally I’ll use a small amount myself, yes. I am sick to death of Crisco.”  
Sans made a sympathetic face. Crisco, he reflected, was not meant to be used heavily in cooking, as they were forced to use it. It should be used to oil machinery. Maybe it could be used as furniture polish. He was sure there were good uses for Crisco, aside from cooking.  
“Do you want to go yourself or do cleanup?”  
“I’ll go.”  
He was back to feeling like he could walk up the walls and he didn’t want to stay inside. Grillbz nodded and pressed his hands around the tokens, completely encasing Sans’ skeleton hands in his large warm ones. _(internal screaming intensifies.)_ Then he went for a rag to wipe the Crisco off of tables.

Sans zoomed outside so he could internally scream at the sky in privacy, then began walking quickly. He was going to finish the trip and corner Grillbz before he went to bed. He had to talk to him tonight, there was no excuse not to now. He hummed tunelessly as he walked. This was going to be a good night.  
He’d jinxed it, hadn’t he.


	3. Some Resolution

Grillbz was lying on his bed, shirt open at the collar, tie and sleeve garters off. His worry about the fact that he’d _ruined everything_ had, over the past several hours, morphed into worry about Sans’ continued absence. He should have been back by now.

It was unlikely, he reminded himself yet again, that Sans had run into trouble with the guards. Most of them knew him, and he knew not to do anything stupid, anyway. Probably. Unless he were really tired and just had a moment. He wasn’t very physically strong even by skeleton standards and he spent an abnormally large amount of his free time sleeping. But as far as Grillbz was aware he’d never fallen asleep on his feet. And he’d seemed pretty alert when he left. So he was probably fine. Maybe he’d met a friend.   
Maybe he’d be spending the night somewhere else? Grillbz carefully did not panic. Even if he was it was probably innocuous. He wasn’t Sans’ babysitter, Sans didn’t need to tell him everything he did. (But it would have been considerate.)   
Fuck. That was how it started, though. Your friends just didn’t show up, and you had to ask around to find out they’d been arrested. They might show up again months later or not at all.   
Sans would be fine. He hadn’t done anything. He was just trying to live. Grillbz was just trying to live. They weren’t pissing off anybody. Honestly, if either of them were arrested it should be Grillbz, but he sincerely doubted that the Confederation cared about a few eggs here and there if you didn’t brag about it, they had bigger fish to catch. Sans would be fine. He didn’t even have magic, at least not any more than the usual life force that belonged to all monsters. Or if he did, he was smart enough to keep it hidden, even from Grillbz, so he doubted that he’d be arrested for ‘misuse’ of magic.   
Unless he’d strayed too near the fence. The guards had been known to fire without warning at night. But that would be stupid and not something Sans would do. Right? Right.   
Grillbz realized that his entire body was tensed and made himself relax.   
Here’s a thought: he’s avoiding you after that awful ridiculous out-of-the-blue kiss earlier. Shit that was probably it. Yep. OK he could deal with that.   
…But what if he’d tried to take a shortcut and gotten lost? Somehow. …Again, he’d be fine, he was a skeleton, he could take extremes of temperature pretty well. He wouldn’t be quite comfortable out in the cutting wind but he could take it. How cold was it out there? _Not cold enough to kill a skeleton, stop worrying._ He’d get home eventually.   
What if he just. Died. Somehow. And nobody (or nobody who would talk) saw it and his dust blended in with the snow and Grillbz never figured out what had happened.   
He should just go to sleep. There wasn’t much he could do really. Unless he went out and looked for him.   
…Well, he wasn’t going to sleep.   
He’d give it another half hour.   
He started planning the route he’d take and what he’d say if anyone stopped him.

Several minutes later there was a soft sound. Deep in thought, he almost didn’t notice it. Once it registered he turned to look. Across the hall, the door to Sans’ room was half-open. He sighed. There, I knew I was overreacting.

…he wanted to check on him.

“Sans?” He knocked on the door, which opened further under the pressure. Sans turned quickly, eyelights dim. He was in his shirt and socks and there was a dirty scrape across his jaw. Grillbz’ emotions swung in a complete circle in the span of a second. Relief: good, he’s back. Concern:   
“What happened?”   
Sans blinked.   
“Huh?”   
“You’ve got something there.”   
Sans touched his jaw and winced, then smiled and shrugged.   
“Heh, oh yeah. I tripped.”   
“Bullshit. Are you OK?”   
“Yeah, I’m fine. I really did trip. Uh, and there was a bonfire, s’that’s why I’m late.”   
“ _Oh_.” Grillbz whooshed out a breath of hot air. “Anyone we know?”   
“Nah. I wasn’t allowed to leave anyway.”   
Grillbz nodded and looked at the floor.   
“…”   
This is why he should have memorized a speech. Why couldn’t he think of anything?   
“Ah. S..sorry for… barging in.” He looked up and found Sans moving towards him with an oddly intent expression. He watched him in confusion, then instinctively started to move back, out of his way. Sans bumped into him and wrapped his arms around his waist.   
Grillbz made a faint sputtering sound. Then pulled Sans closer by the shoulders and rested a hand on his head. Sans nuzzled into his shirt.   
“Heya.”   
Grillbz rubbed his shoulders.   
“….Hey. So, ah. I take it you’re not… upset about… earlier?”   
Sans tilted his head back to look at him, then beckoned with one finger.   
“Lean down here for a sec.”   
Grillbz leaned down so their heads were close to the same level. Sans stood grinning at him. Grillbz waited.   
“..Um.”   
Sans’ left eye glinted with sudden color, then he grabbed Grillbz’ collar and pulled him down into a kiss. Grillbz flickered, then kissed him back, cupping a hand behind his skull. He tasted Sans’ magic.   
“Woah,” breathed Sans, pulling back. Grillbz opened his eyes and found the room several shades brighter: he guessed that he’d flushed almost white, but he was too distracted to check.   
“Woah,” he echoed, tracing Sans’ cheekbone with his thumb. “You should see your eye.” It was shimmering in pulses between cerulean and sunflower yellow, back and forth.    
“You should see your face. Wait, what’s my eye doing?”   
“It’s glowing colors.”   
“Heh, really. Didn’t know I could still do that.”   
“… Can I pick you up?”   
Sans stuck his arms up.   
“Sure.”   
Grillbz lifted him into his arms and stood up. Sans weighed very little and it was much more comfortable than crouching.   
“That’s better,” Grillbz said, reaching for his glasses, which had been knocked askew. He took them off and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them Sans was staring at the dulled flicker.   
“….?”   
“Pretty,” said Sans, almost shyly. Grillbz chuckled.   
“You’ve seen my eyes before, Sans.”   
“Only in glimpses. Why’re they so hard to see when you’re wearing glasses?”   
“Oh, did I never tell you?” he folded the glasses and gave them to Sans. “They focus light coming from the outside, and scatter light from the inside. Your father designed them.”   
“Really?” Sans put them on. Everything turned into oversaturated blurs. “GAH! Ah. I think you’re hot enough without the glasses, take ‘em back.”   
“Hm.”   
“Heh… you’re smiling.”   
“Is that unusual?”   
“I dunno. Seems like you’ve been doing it a lot more than usual lately.”   
“Maybe I have. Haha… I was, I was going to tell you with some grand romantic gesture but I didn’t have any ideas.”   
“And so you decided to be extremely obvious?”   
“I don’t know Sans, not everything I do makes sense. It was a snap decision. And then I regretted it.”   
“Whyyyy?”   
“Uh, you didn’t react. I.. I thought I’d messed up.”   
“You ran away, I didn’t have time to react.”   
“…True.”   
Sans bonked him where his nose would be if he had one.   
“You can be very confusing, you know that?”   
“Sorry.” Grillbz chuckled lightly. he looked at Sans, and Sans stared back, eyelights sharp and alert, like stars. “What?”   
“….What are you?”   
“…?” it took a moment for Grillbz to understand what he was asking. “I’m an elemental, Sans. Isn’t it obvious?”   
“I thought they were all gone.”   
“Oh, you believed that propaganda? Really Sans, I thought better of you.” Sans looked… awestruck? Probably because he was half blind… He fumbled his glasses back on. He wasn’t wrong. Grillbz felt himself flushing white again. “Well perhaps you’re not far wrong. My connection to the elements has…” he didn’t want to talk about that. But now Sans was looking quizzically at him. “I can’t see as well as I used to. I used to be able to see the light innate in objects. Did you know that you’re made of light, Sans?” he took his glasses off and focused his eyes with an effort, trying to see the secondary colors in the blur in front of him. Nothing. Only darkness. He gave up, retreating into a dim haze. “I can’t see it, but I know it’s there.” He blinked a few times to reset his vision. Sans was still giving him that wide-eyed look, and seemed to be lost for words. That was new.   
“…Oh,” he said, “I almost forgot why I meant to talk with you in the first place.”   
“To confess your deep and undying love for me?”   
“That too. One of the officers thinks he saw Papyrus.”   
Sans sat up a little straighter and his face became serious.   
“Where?”   
“At a training center.”   
“….Huh.”   
“He could be wrong. Even if he saw a tall skeleton, as he said, it might not have been Papyrus.”   
“How many other tall skeletons do you know?”   
“I know there are a few around.”   
“Huh.”   
“But it’s encouraging. I’d started to wonder if he was still alive.”   
“Yeah…”   
Sans pressed his face into Grillbz’ shirt, and Grillbz held him a little tighter.

**A/N: And surprisingly, nothing bad happened!! ...Yet.**

**The idea for Gaster having made Grillbz' glasses probably came to me from this[piece](http://lilianriekeart.tumblr.com/post/143494340228/a-strange-sketch-i-made-yesterday-i-had-to-write):**


	4. Morning

Sans was aware in his sleep that he was pleasantly warm. He woke suddenly when the warmth stretched, nestled closer to him and mumbled something about potato skins.

He was in his bed, still in his shirt, and Grillbz was curled around him, breathing softly. Slowly, trying not to wake him, Sans rolled over to look at him. He was fast asleep, eyelids flickering as he dreamed, flames dull and lazy, rolling close to his body. His clothes were badly rumpled from his heat.

He looked strangely different with his face mashed into the pillow—peaceful and unguarded.

…Why couldn’t Sans remember what he was doing there?

_Because he’d gone the fuck to sleep._

Sans gave a quiet groan of disgust, and would have smacked himself if he weren’t afraid the sudden movement would wake up his bed partner.

He’d been having a moment with Grillbz and then he’d just. Gone to sleep.

Granted, he’d had an exhausting day and it had been late, but still. How had it happened? He tried to remember. His memories just faded out, then—he was almost sure—he’d woken up as Grillbz was tucking him into bed and had latched onto his sleeve and refused to let go, although too sleepy to talk. Then the memories faded out again.

He couldn’t believe himself. But it had worked out alright, he supposed, looking again at Grillbz.

Elementals were creatures of awesome power. Some classified them as monsters, some thought they were a third species of their own. Whatever the case, Sans was sharing a blanket with a living legend. He nestled closer. The legend was soft and warm and solid, and smelled like sunlight on bricks.

He wondered again why he’d never seen Grillbz use magic. It was technically illegal, but still—he never had, even in private. Of course, Sans hadn’t let Grillbz see _him_ using magic, but he didn’t think Grillbz had a reason for hiding, as Sans did. But maybe he did. How well did he really know him?  
And there was that abrupt stop he’d made when he started to talk about it. Maybe he couldn’t. It was rumored that the Intelligence Technicians could sever a monster from their magic. Sans had always half-believed, half-hoped that it was false, but he also doubted that the Confederation would have let an elemental go free if he were in perfect condition; it was too much of a risk.

If that were the case, no wonder he didn’t want to talk about it. Sans decided not to ask.

And there was something else bothering him, now that the strange blend of angst over his ruining a good moment by falling asleep and joy that Grillbz had stayed, and reciprocated his feelings, and everything was going to be good now—(Sans reached across to the night table and knocked on wood)—was fading. He needed to do something—  
The broadcast. What time was it? Suddenly he wasn’t sure. Had he slept later than usual? There was no clock up here. He needed to get down there, _now_.  
…he lay without moving for a few seconds longer, breathing in Grillbz’ smell and plotting his escape. One heavy arm was thrown across his body. Carefully he wriggled out from under it, then slid down onto the floor, hardly breathing. Grillbz didn’t move. Good. He quickly snatched up a clean set of clothes and started for the door, but stopped dead when he heard a sound.  
It was a low, continuous rumbling sound that seemed familiar, yet he couldn’t place it.  
He looked towards the bed. Grillbz had rolled into the spot vacated by Sans and had the covers bunched in his arms and his face pressed into them, purring.  
Purring. Like an enormous fire cat.  
Sans was aware that Grillbz could purr. He’d done it sometimes while falling asleep, back when they had all shared one room, and once or twice when he was very calm and contented, but he usually stopped abruptly and looked uncomfortable when he caught someone looking at him. Sans hadn’t heard him do it in a while. He stared, fascinated, for several moments, then shook himself, left quickly and teleported from the hallway, still holding his clothes in a flustered ball of confusion.

>knock, knock.

He waited, soul thumping a little faster than usual, for the old lady to respond. Was he late?

>Who’s there?

>amy.

>Amy who?

>am I on time?

>A few minutes early, as a matter of fact. Get your sleeping patterns disrupted?

>ah good. yes a bit, I went out late last night and had trouble getting back.

>Well, I’m glad you’re here safe.

>same. how are you?

>Oh, boring as always. I’ve been trying to think up new jokes, but I won’t waste them on you now. I’m saving them! ;) Oh, and I scraped together a few things and made a pie. It was quite decent, though I could make much better before the fall.

>mmmm. pie.

That was a non-answer, but he couldn’t think of anything interesting to say, except that pie was indeed good, which was more or less rephrasing what he’d just said. He sat back and fidgeted with his sleeves, then leaned forwards and typed a new message, hitting send before he could question his decision.

>I think I’m in love.

Oh fuck. Well that was awkward. But he wouldn’t mind hearing her advice, now that he’d already put it out there. If she felt like giving advice. He didn’t know what advice he wanted, even. Maybe just someone trustworthy to talk to.

>With pie? I am as well.

>no with the guy I live with.

>Oh no.

>oh no?

>Is he trustworthy?

>I don’t know. I trust him the most of anyone besides you  but he doesn’t know about this.

>Of course not. Have you seen him with his shirt off?

>t h a t    i s   a   v e r y    i n v a s i v e   q u e s t i o n   (yes it was nice)

>I’m sure. Did he have a tattoo?

>yes.

>Well?

>it’s a low number. he was one of the first to be arrested. I think they saw him as a threat and wanted to make sure they were on the same page. I don’t think he’s really fond of the Confederation, but that’s not something we talk about.

>Does he have a star or a slash? You’re stalling.

>I couldn’t see. maybe neither?

>How long have you known him?

>a bit more than four years. since my dad died. dad trusted him, anyway, and he was an enemy of the confedertdsadfsion. but when I get down to it he’s pretty quiet and I don’t know much about him.

>Please be careful my child.

>yeah come on, what kind of stupid do you expect me to do? he’s not gonna find this place.

He couldn’t let him, Sans reminded himself. That meant no more sharing a bed. He had to be able to get out unseen in the mornings.  
A part of him wished he’d stayed with Grillbz and just forgotten about the broadcast. Surely he wasn’t accomplishing anything by being down here anyway. Would Grillbz be waking up now? Would he still be purring?  
That was a lie, Toriel had told him how many tuned in to hear the broadcast. It was a sign of defiance and therefore, hope. It was a source of encouragement. And there were the coded words he passed through sometimes when there was no better way to relay information. He couldn’t quit.

>Not if you don’t show him. At least, I hope. You’ve told me your room is well hidden.

>yeah, it is.

>So you don’t trust him?

>I mean I do, as much as anyone else I know, but nobody can know about this. right? it’s safer. I don’t really know him.

>I’m sending your song now, go ahead and get ready. And I wouldn’t definitively say nobody can know ever. It might be good to have a backup, if you’re certain they’re trustworthy.

>I know.

They’d discussed this. Sans had no ideas. He didn’t want to involve Papyrus—and that may never be an option again now. As it stood now, if Sans were prevented from doing the broadcast, there was no one to fill in for him.

>So you’re not going to tell him.

>no.

>I think that’s a wise choice, especially if you don’t know his feelings on the Confederation. He sounds unlikely to be a spy, but anyone can be an informer if they’ve been scared badly enough.

>I know. that’s what I’ve been thinking about. I don’t know what they did to him but I doubt that they just got bored of holding him and let him go free.

>I trust your judgement. You’ll find something to do. Now, what brought this subject up? Have you fallen unexpectedly into love?

>no. this has.. been a thing for a while now I guess. seriously for a few months, but I’ve kinda had a crush on him for years. but I just kinda figured it wouldn’t work and I was just you know, not gonna talk about it I guess and. I dunno, nevermind.

>And?

>what? nothing.

>Child, if you do not finish that ‘and’ I will have a heart attack, turn into a ghost, and come through your monitor to scream ‘WHAT IS IT’ at you.

>geez ma’am calm down it’s not a big deal

>’It’ being?

>ah ok fine. you’re too sharp for me. yeah. something did happen to bring this up. he kissed me. so it made me think he might feel the same way.

>Well that much seems obvious, yes.

…It was pretty obvious now that he’d heard someone else say it. He’d still been half in disbelief at the whole thing. It seemed too good to be true. Although, from a certain perspective, it was the worst possible scenario.

>…yeah probably.

>Certainly. Well, this brings us to a new level. What are you going to do?

>make sure I’m never around him early in the morning so I can get down here on time without looking suspicious.

>Well that is both incredibly detailed and incredibly vague. How are you going to do that?

>I have no idea. any kind of serious relationship sounds like a bad idea at this point.

And he’s currently sleeping in my bed and I don’t want to tell him to move. Sans decided not to bring that up. Heart attacks were bad. He’d figure some way to get through the day and talk to her again when he had decided something for sure.

>I agree. Play your song now. We have about three minutes. Be careful.

>got it, playing now. I will. don’t worry about me.

Sans slipped on his headset.

_Here comes the sun, here comes the sun  
And I say it's all right_

>Any news on your brother?

>no. not really. someone thinks they might have seen him maybe, you know how that is. 

>Well, he could still be out there.

>I’ll keep hoping.

>Have I ever told you about my husband?

>no. you’re married?

>In a manner of speaking. We haven’t formally separated.

>oh, that doesn’t sound nice.

>He betrayed me, and countless others who were depending on us, because he wasn’t strong enough to stand against the Confederation. They took our children and threatened to kill them if he didn’t comply with our demands, and to give them back safe if he did. He did. Not at all surprisingly, the children have never been seen again. I’m almost sure they are dead. I rather hope they are. Yet he remains a tool in their hands, meekly doing whatever is asked of him in the hope that someday they will be returned to him. Many people depended on him, who would not have been arrested if he’d refused to comply.

>I’m so sorry.

>Love is dangerous. And yet it defines us. You have to be strong to live here.  
>Sometimes I wonder if I would have been any better than him under the same pressure. I fled as soon as I heard the children had been taken and was lucky enough to get outside the border safely. Sometimes I imagine that they are alive, and that they will appear here someday. It’s a lie.  
>…That’s not very uplifting. You have a bit less than a minute. Quick, what does a tangerine call its significant other?

>his main ‘squeeze’ ?

>Haha, very good. You’re live in twenty, and I hope I haven’t ruined your mood with all this.

>not at all.

>Live in ten.

Sans adjusted his headset and suddenly panicked. He had no idea what to say. His mind was a blank. This almost never happened to him, he was good at making things up on the fly.  
It had been about five seconds. Help.  
OK fuck he was going to talk about his personal life on the air because he didn’t have any other ideas fuck fuck fuck

>You’re on.

NNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

“Heya it’s the legendary fartmaster back for another perfect day of love and sparkles and torture in the Confederacy of Dunces. Eh? Don’t know how any of you out there are doing, but I hope it’s well. I’m doing OK in a manner of speaking. Just dealing with other people can be hard if you’re not sure who to trust. It seems like we’d all be on the same side, yet it’s hard to know for sure these days, and taking a leap of faith is likely to get you killed by gravity and sharp rocks nine times out of ten. Sorry for the depressing statistics but it’s true and I need to remind myself as well. On a lighter note, did you ever hear the one about the Peacekeeping Captain who didn’t know how to tie his shoes?”

And with that he was back on solid ground. The rest of the broadcast passed normally, except that Sans felt more than usually drained when it was over.

He shut the computer down, dressed in the slightly rumpled clothes he’d brought with him, and attempted to brush off the cobwebs they’d accumulated. This was why he usually dressed in his room.

He teleported into the hallway and froze. He was alone? He was alone. He stared at the door to his room. He needed to lie. He’d… left to change his clothes. Sudden attack of shyness. Yeah, sure.

He crushed the shirt he’d slept in under one arm and swung the door open.

The room was empty, and suddenly he remembered that he hadn’t shut the door behind him when he left.

His mind reeled. He’d miscalculated something. A faint sound that he only now realized he’d been hearing since he appeared in the hallway registered: the sound of static.  He turned.

Grillbz was sitting in his own room with the door open, one hand resting on an ancient radio, staring at Sans with a look that showed he was perfectly aware of the fact that Sans had appeared impossibly from a dead-end hallway.

_Grillbz owned an illegal radio._

“Oh hey,” said Sans.

“So it is you?” said Grillbz quietly, switching the radio off.

“Uuhhh?”

“I thought I recognized the accent. You used to do it for Papyrus, to make him laugh. You stopped when he hit the awkward age and didn’t like it anymore.”

“What… accent… heheh….” Sans was trying to decide whether to keep bluffing or just roll with it, which is what he wanted to do, very badly, _but what if it were a terrible idea_

“Sans,” said Grillbz gravely, standing and walking towards him. He lifted Sans’ hands and pressed them in his own. “You can trust me. I promise.”

Fuck I’m dead.

“I had wondered if it was you,” said Grillbz, running his thumb over Sans’ finger bones. “But I didn’t understand how you could get out of the house—or, do you? Where did you come from just now?”

Snap decisions, Sans decided, will be the death or salvation of both of us.

“Lemme show you.”

He teleported, bringing Grillbz with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--Well this ~is~ a dystopian fic, yeees?~ ….Hmm yes, Papyrus. I wonder, where is that little ray of sunshine?-- 
> 
> also 
> 
> I CAN'T BELIEVE I JUST. PROMISED TO UPLOAD THIS HERE AND THEN WENT 'EH IT'S ON TUMBLR IT'S FINE' AND NEVER FINISHED IT. I'M SORRY HERE'S THE REST I FINALLY REMEMBERED
> 
> also wow this is from before I convinced myself to start paragraphing more


	5. He's Alive

Grillbz appeared to take a moment to process the change of scenery. Slowly he looked up.   
“Wh…??”   
“I can teleport.”   
“You can..?”   
“Teleport. Space-shift. Jump travel. You know, the thing. That thing you do where you don’t need stairs.”   
Grillbz stared at him.   
“How long have you been able to do that?”   
“Since I was a kid. Dad made sure nobody but him knew about it. Heheh, I’d be in trouble if anyone did… find out… yeah.”   
Grillbz smiled.   
“I already said you can trust me. No one else will know, not if they freeze me to death for it.”   
“Yeah thanks.”   
Those were words. Words were easy.   
But he’d always been able to trust Grillbz. He wanted to believe that he still could. And anyway, no going back now.   
“Where are we?”   
“You know that shaft that leads to the old wine cellar?”   
A look of sparking realization appeared on Grillbz’ face.   
“But it’s been boarded up for years. And there’s no ladder.”   
“Lucky I can teleport. Double-lucky, because the top of the shaft looks like it hasn’t been opened in years, which it actually hasn’t. So if someone _does_ find it hopefully they won’t look too far, or it won’t implicate any of us too heavily even if they do find my stuff.”   
Sans’ equipment was set up behind a stack of empty crates in the farthest corner from the disused shaft that led into the restaurant’s storage room.   
“Won’t implicate us too heavily?”   
“Well I mean if anyone does come all the way down here the gig is up but I’m hoping that doesn’t happen.”   
Grillbz stepped away from Sans and walked carefully around the mini-room that he’d made of crates.   
“I stacked them so they don’t look too suspicious from the outside and I haven’t been out there since, so the dust is all undisturbed out there,” said Sans. “It should look completely abandoned from the outside.”   
“This isn’t safe.”   
“Eh, nothing is safe really.”   
Grillbz stopped abruptly and looked at him. He started to say something, paused, shifted his weight and looked down at the floor.   
“What?” Asked Sans. Grillbz looked back up.   
“I don’t.. w… It’s not safe.”   
An icy calm settled over Sans. This was a fitting end.   
“Are you trying to tell me something?”   
“Wh… I’m, I’m telling you that it’s dangerous, and…” he looked at Sans. “Sans no!! What— _why_ would I betray you?! I just—I want you to be safe…What do you think I am?”   
“I don’t know, actually.”   
“I’m a coward. I just want to live, that’s all. And I want you to be safe.  When it’s some disembodied voice on the radio, someone you don’t know, you feel like they can never be hurt, somehow, and... but it's you. I know you. I.. want to say I’m proud of you but I’m just terrified. No, I am proud of you. And scared. I don’t know…”   
“I’m careful, believe me. I don’t broadcast from here, I send the data to my contact, and she has her own setup for broadcasting. She hasn’t told me the details but she says it’s secure. And she seems pretty sharp, so I trust her not to get caught. As long as she doesn’t I don’t think anyone will come here.”   
Grillbz nodded vacantly.   
“What is that?”   
“A computer.” Grillbz looked blankly at it. “Built it myself and it’s crap, but it works, and that’s enough. It runs on that generator there.”   
Grillbz glanced at the generator with something more akin to recognition, then did a doubletake. He stooped and hooked a bottle out from under the table with one finger.   
“It runs on moonshine?”   
“Yep.”   
Grillbz looked at Sans and cracked a smile.   
“Heh…. Thank God, I was worried you were an alcoholic.”   
“Ah, so you did notice—“   
“I knew it had to be you taking it, I just didn’t know what you were doing with it.”   
“Ah geez.”   
“But you seemed fine, and I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.” he tapped his fingers on the bottle and chuckled. “You actually built a generator to run on moonshine.”   
“Actually, no, I bought this from someone whose identity will remain undisclosed. Though at this point I might as well have built it myself with all the repairs I’ve been doing.”   
“You can buy moonshine generators?”   
“Well, what else are we gonna run them on? There is an underground, you know.”   
“Yes, I’m well aware, since we sell massive amounts of—“ he froze. “Sans.”   
“Heh?”   
“Is that it? I’ve always wondered where it all goes to. There are either a lot of invisible alcoholics in this town or people are using it to run generators.”   
“Yep.”   
“…I’ve been a party to illegal activity all along.”   
“In more than one way.”   
Grillbz gave a ragged laugh and put the bottle down.   
“Can we go? I’m… still getting used to this.”   
“Not yet, this is the safest place in the house to talk, I think. How did you know about the broadcast?”   
“Found it. There’s not much on the radio anymore, it wasn’t hard.”   
“So you were just… searching radio stations, listening to static?”   
Grillbz nodded.   
“Static is a sign that there’s something out there. Sometimes I’d hear scratches of music that couldn’t quite get through. And then one morning there was suddenly music coming through loud and clear, and I had to turn the volume down because I was afraid someone would hear it. I don’t remember what it was. I think I was too happy to notice. And then your broadcast came on.” Grillbz snorted. “I’d never been that happy to hear puns. The next day I checked to see if it would happen again, I thought it had to have been some kind of fluke, but it did. That time it was piano music. Beautiful.” He half-smiled.   
“You like piano music?”   
Grillbz nodded.   
“My sister used to play, once. I’d plink on the keys sometimes, trying to figure out a tune.” He covered his face with his hands. “I can… almost see her.” He looked down at Sans, flames swirling slowly.   
Good God, he was beautiful. Sans stared up at him, willing himself to speak but strangely unable to think of anything appropriate. Useless phrases flickered and died in his head: I’m sorry, are you OK, I love you, who are you, talk to me, kiss me. He gave up: he’d place all his trust here, he’d done it before and never been let down. If Grillbz wanted to betray him Sans wouldn’t even fight. He’d go with a smile, because they’d had this moment and it seemed only reasonable that it would end. It couldn’t be real.   
“Sans?” said Grillbz.   
“Huh.”   
Grillbz frowned.   
“Is there something I can do to convince you?”   
“What?”   
“I want you to trust me.”   
“You don’t have to convince me. I should have told you years ago.” Sans walked forward, took his hand and kissed it. The room grew a little brighter. Sans looked down at the hand still cradled in his. Magic and light danced across his fingers. He kissed Grillbz’ hand again, then his wrist, then his arm, and Grillbz wrapped the arm around him and pulled him close. He nuzzled into the front of Grillbz’ vest and laced his fingers around his belt. Grillbz folded the other arm across his back, a warm weight. Sans sighed.   
They stood like that for several moments.   
“We should go,” said Grillbz finally, “Or we won’t have time for breakfast.”   
“Mm.” Sans released one hand from its grip and snapped his fingers, teleporting them at the same instant. They appeared in the kitchen. Grillbz only tensed a little bit this time.   
“Nice.”   
“Yeah, it’s pretty nifty.”   
“Yes… hmmph.” He chuckled as he bustled around the kitchen.   
“What?”   
“Moonshine. All this time I was taking pride in my work, making something edible out of completely shit unwanted grain rations, and nobody actually ingests it anyway.”   
“Eh I wouldn’t say nobody. Just… the bulk of it may find other uses.”   
“All of my work has been for naught.”   
“ _I_ like it.”   
“Don’t you start now, I’m still getting over the alcoholism scare.”   
“C’mon, me? Where do you think I’d fit that in my schedule?”   
Said Sans, pressing up beside him as he fidgeted with the griddle. Grillbz looked down at him, then smiled. Sans smiled back.   
“Hey, are you thinking about what I—“   
Grillbz leaned down and kissed him briskly on the edge of the mouth, then walked away.   
Sans teleported onto the counter directly in front of him.   
“One of these days you need to do that and not run away afterward.”   
“AAUGH! ..Please don’t do that.”

Several days passed more or less normally, except for a strange light that seemed to charge everything around Sans. Between running the restaurant, checking the mash in the shed in their backyard and getting some amount of sleep before the broadcast, he didn’t have much free time, and life stayed confined to its set patterns—except that sometimes Grillbz would rest his hand on Sans’ head or shoulder as he passed, and their nightly conversations were getting longer, despite the need for sleep. Sans looked forward to Saturday, when they closed early—it was a diner, not a bar (legally).

>do you have any piano music we could play?

He asked the old lady.

>Piano music? Yes, I believe so. I’ll check. Why? I didn’t think you had preferences.

>it’s for a friend.

>Aaah. Is it ‘that’ friend?

>the one we talked about? yeah.

>So how are things going?

>pretty good. I told him.

>About?

>the broadcast. he’d already figured it out, actually, from my voice. evidently it’s not as hard to identify as I’d hoped, heh. though he says it’s only because he knows me well.

>Well. If he already knew and hasn’t done anything I think we can trust him.

>one would hope. I don’t have a choice now. and I’m glad that he knows, anyway. I like him a lot and it’s nice not to have secrets.

>Good. Just let him know that if I ever get a sniff of something not right in any respect whatsoever on your end I’m coming over there with a frying pan.

>haha thanks.

>I mean it. He better treat you well.

>he always does.

>Mhm. Play the music.

>all systems go, captain.

>So tell me, what’s your honey like? I want to know.

Sans stared at the screen, then laughed.   
He couldn’t tell any important details—they had agreed not to, it was safer. He didn’t know the old lady’s name or race, and she didn’t know his. But they had discovered little things about each other, such as that she liked to bake whenever she got the chance and he was short.

>mmmmm. physically, he’s taller than me, dresses sharp and is very warm.

>From all the jokes you’ve made about your height I would expect that many people are taller than you.

>well yeah. but not everyone pulls it off with style.

>I see. ‘Warm?’

>warm. like a fireplace. a very attractive fireplace.

>…I see?

>yep. and he’s quiet, usually. he can talk if he wants to, but generally doesn’t. neat and orderly, but patient with er, less-neat people. gentle, I’ve only seen him get angry once.  sort of casually graceful in the way he moves. he just. aaaagh. he’s gorgeous.

>He sounds lovely.

>aaaaaaaaaa.

>Is your broadcast just going to be lovestruck screeching today?

>aaaaaaa nnnoooo  I can stooooop I sweaaaaarrr

>  :)

>  ;]  
>you’re taking this well I thought you would be horrified

>Oh I am very horrified! I’m just struggling to be an optimist! For you! I’m sure he’s very nice and very trustworthy if you are! I trust your judgement!

>that is a lot of exclamation points and a lot of implied uncertainty and now I am uncomfortable.

>Oh don’t be, I’m just being a silly worried old lady who thinks too much about how things could go wrong. I’m glad you have this relationship. Have fun. I think? Is that what one says? Good luck? Congratulations?

>….please desist.

>If you have babies can I be their honorary grandmother? Please?

>………………. ewdsxc

>Moving a bit fast? Sorry. I love babies. Humor an old lady.

>edkfjjaweskdzcnxvkejrfdc yes.   
>wefdscdgjerjjsd  
>this literally just happened pls no I’m still trying to figure out what our relationship is now

>Hahahaha poor dear, I’m sorry. You have less than a minute, get ready to gab.

>aaaaaa!

>Compose yourself dear, surely my untimely request for substitute grandbabies hasn’t unsettled you that much?

>aaaaaaaaaaa!

>Hahahahah oh my. Have you discussed it at least?   
>shoot you have tendseconds

>aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa no! nothing1 we have discussed nothing h e l p ineedtogodoabroadcastnowbye 

>SOrry   
>*Sorry.   
>I’m laughing. I’m terrible. Sorry. Sounds good so far.

Sans viewed the completely normal broadcast which followed this conversation as one of his greatest achievements.

Thursday night Sans was awoken by a crash from downstairs. He checked Grillbz’ room and found it empty and, reassured that it was probably not a burglar, went down to find Grillbz draped across a still that was lying on its side in the hallway. He was covered in mostly melted snow and panting.   
“Heya. What’s the still doing inside—is that our still?”   
“It is now. I found another one.”   
“ ‘found’.”   
“…Yes.”   
“You bought another still? Why?”   
“Sans, we make drinking alcohol. It can’t be the best fuel.”   
“It’s really not. But hey, desperate times.”   
“is it safe?”   
“Eh. If you know what you’re doing and have a good filter.”   
“We’re going to start multiple-distilling batches for fuel.”   
“No. We can’t sell that. It’s too obvious, even if we pretend it’s for something else. And when are we going to find the time?”   
“Alright, then you can have it all. I don’t want you to blow yourself up while you’re down there. And as for time, that’s what the second still is for. It’ll take the same amount of time if we work on it together instead of taking turns.”   
“You bought a still because you were worried about me?”   
“I never do anything with my money. Help me move it if you want to make it up to me.”   
“Heh. Will do.”   
Sans teleported from the stairs into the shed in the backyard, double-checked where everything was so he didn’t try to teleport himself and a still directly into the fermenting mash or the wall, and reappeared on the carpet next to Grillbz, who was struggling to right the still.   
“Let me do it,” said Sans. Grillbz let go and looked questioningly at him.   
Sans lay down next to the still, wrapped his arms around it, and then teleported himself—and the still—into an upright position.   
Grillbz whistled quietly.   
“Yeah it’s hella useful. Or would be if I could do it in public.”   
“Mm. Do you ever slip up and do it anyway?”   
“No. Never.”   
“Good.”   
Sans held out his hand.   
“The time-and-space-disregarding Sans Express is leaving the station. Come with?”   
Grillbz took his hand. A moment later he, Sans, and the second still appeared in the shed. It was brighter than Sans had expected. He kissed Grillbz’ hand before dropping it and the white flush threw sharp shadows across the walls.

Friday night Sans came back into the main diner from putting away the mop he’d just used and found Grillbz wiping down the last of the tables.   
“Friday night. Are you tired?”   
Grillbz straightened slowly to look at him.   
“No more than usual. Why?”   
“We should go dancing.”   
Grillbz lifted an eyebrow, amused.   
“Where?”   
“Here. Dancing around tables is easier than dancing around other couples anyway.”   
Grillbz smiled.   
“That’s antisocial of you, but I’m inclined to agree. But I’m not sure if I can remember.”   
“OK, stand right there.”   
“What are you planning?”   
“Lift your arms up.”   
“…Like this?” Grillbz circled his arms like a ballerina, frowning in confusion.   
“Yeah.” Sans trotted towards Grillbz from across the room. After a few steps he vanished, appearing at Grillbz’ chest level. Grillbz gave a startled squeak and caught him.   
“Heya.”   
“You’re going to give me a heart attack.”   
“…Did you just—?”   
“Hm?”   
“You did. You squeaked.”   
“Sans, I am a mighty and fearsome fire elemental. I do not ‘squeak’.” Grillbz said it with a straight face, but Sans knew from his voice that he was struggling not to smile.   
“You definitely squeaked. Like a rubber ducky.” Sans squished Grillbz’ cheeks. “ _Squeek squeek squeek_.”   
Grillbz gave a choking laugh.   
“Stop. I thought you wanted to dance?”   
“I did.”   
“Well then.”   
Grillbz adjusted his hold on Sans, supporting him with an arm behind his back and lifting his hand with his free hand. He stepped into a waltz step, carrying Sans around in a circle twice, then drifting over to a table, setting him on it and spinning him. Sans finished the spin, caught Grilbz’ hand and guided it onto his back, taking his other hand instead and reversing the step. He led Grillbz in a small circle with Sans’ half covering an arc from one corner of the table to the next and then spun him, flames licking under his arms. Grillbz reversed the step.   
“I didn’t realize you could waltz,” Grillbz said.   
“I haven’t in forever. Please don’t make me do anything complicated.”   
“I can’t even remember what I would try. You are safe.” Grillbz spun him again, and Sans spun twice, ending pressed against Grillbz’ chest. He pulled Grillbz’ glasses off, kissed him on the cheek, pocketed the glasses and reversed the step, leading again.   
“Sans I can’t see.”   
“Yeah you can.”   
“Everything is dark, except for things which are blurs.”   
“You’re doing fine. Trust me.”   
“Alright.”   
It worked perfectly, until Sans spun him. He spun at a wonky angle and Sans realized he was going to hit the table.   
“Shit wait—“   
There was a thump and the surface he was standing on tilted. He clung to Grillbz.   
“Gaah!”   
He fell on his back and Grillbz fell over him, stopping himself with his arms.   
“…Oh.” He said, blinking down at Sans.   
“Uh, hey there.”   
“Did you do that on purpose?”   
“Surprisingly, no. I merely obey the mighty laws of gravity.”   
“Ah. You mean, the attractive force between objects.” Grillbz let his arms go limp and flopped on the floor next to Sans. “Oh dear. Your gravity is too strong. Help. I can’t move.”   
Sans laughed, banging his head against the floor.   
“What? You cannot argue with gravity,” said Grillbz.   
“No, of course I do not presume. Oh, but you’re responsible for a horrifying breach of etiquette. Who lies on the floor in a nice bowtie? The poor tie. All it’s done for you and this is what it’s come to.”   
“Alas.” Snorted Grillbz, and let Sans undo his tie and loop it around his wrist. “Better?”   
“Much better. Perhaps the bowtie gods will have mercy on us.” Grillbz snorted, which made Sans laugh, which made Grillbz laugh. They clung desperately to each other for a few moments, choking.   
“Stop being so damn funny, I’m trying to flirt with you but I can’t stop laughing,” wheezed Sans.   
“But you look nice when you’re laughing. At least, I think? Judging from past experiences. You still look like a dark blur to me.” Grillbz put his hand out, feeling Sans’ face. Sans folded his hands behind Grillbz’ neck.   
“You look kinda like a bright blur.”   
“Really?”   
“Yeah. So bright. Like, I can look straight at you without hurting my eyes, but it still feels like I’m missing stuff, cuz you’re just… so bright. It turns into blurs.”   
Grillbz traced his finger over Sans’ brow ridges. They were pursed.   
“What?” he asked.   
Sans was running his fingers over a spot at the base of Grillbz’ neck. It felt odd. It took him a few moments to figure out why. There was a patch which was noticeably cooler than the surrounding area.   
“What is this?”   
“A scar.”   
“Does it hurt?”   
“No. It just feels a bit off.”   
Sans turned the collar down and kissed the cool patch. His entire vision blazed white.   
“Better?”   
“…Not worse.” Grillbz’ arms tightened around him, enclosing him in warmth. Sans snuggled in. Grillbz slowly rubbed circles on his back.   
Suddenly he stopped, tensing.   
“What?” whispered Sans. Grillbz remained tensed for a few seconds before relaxing.   
“Nothing. Thought I heard—“

Someone pounded on the door. He flinched. Sans balled his fists in his shirt.

“Shit.” Grillbz stood, setting Sans on his feet. “Go upstairs, I’ll get it.”   
“What? No—“   
“Hush. It’s probably nothing. It’ll look strange if we’re together.”   
“Er—? I don’t see why—“   
Grillbz carried him to the kitchen, set him inside and closed the door. Sans cracked it open and watching him walk to the door, bumping a table once and putting out his hands to check for more. Whoops… He still had his glasses…   
He hesitated at the door, and glanced back at the kitchen.   
‘Probably nothing’ my ass. He was scared. Sans contemplated running out to join him, but that would probably make him more upset and not less. He was opening the door. Whoever it was hadn’t knocked more than once, that was good. It probably wasn’t too… urgent. …

He couldn’t see very well around Grillbz, but it was someone in a Guard uniform. He couldn’t tell how many more there were, but it was unlikely that there was just one.   
“What do you want?” said Grillbz, with exactly the right blend of politeness, thinly-shrouded irritation and exhaustion. The Guard didn’t answer immediately, which was.. vaguely menacing. Grillbz took a half-step back and raised his hand. Sans tensed, magic balling in his chest, then saw with confusion that Grillbz was running a hand over the Guard’s face.   
“…Papyrus?..”   
“CAn I cOme iN?”   
Sans’ soul raced. But it couldn’t be, the voice was wrong, wasn’t it?   
Grillbz stepped quickly to the side, giving Sans a clear view of a tall form that filled their doorway. It seemed to be alone. A red scarf was tossed over its shoulder.   
“Please do.”   
Papyrus(!??) didn’t move, but stood on the threshold.   
“Is SAnS hEre?”   
Sans pushed the door open and ran across the diner to the door.   
“Hey, bro.”   
Papyrus looked at him in a way that made Sans wonder momentarily if his memory was intact, but then his face cracked into a smile.   
“HELlo BROTHeR.”   
He knelt and pulled Sans into a tight hug.   
Over Papyrus’ shoulder Sans saw Grillbz push the door shut and lean against it. He appeared to be hyperventilating.


	6. Gone

Papyrus fell asleep with his head on the kitchen table. Grillbz picked him up to carry him upstairs and he cringed and whined, then wrapped his arms about Grillbz’ neck.

Grillbz stood outside in the hall with his arms crossed while Sans helped Papyrus change into an old set of pajamas. Sans laughed.   
“Geez bro, you have grown.”   
Papyrus had said it was alright for him to spend the night. Someone would be there to pick him up in the morning.   
Papyrus asked something, and Sans said “I’ll be back, just wanna say g’night to Grillb.” The door swung open. Sans looked up at him. After considering for a moment Grillbz picked him up, swung him across the hallway into his room and stood him on the side of his bed. Sans raised his brow ridges.   
“Slow down hot stuff, you haven’t even seduced me yet.”   
“He’s staying?”   
“Yes.”   
“Good.”   
“Good?”   
“I agree.”   
“Yeah. Good. I was worried you uh… I dunno, you looked worried earlier.”   
“I am. Sans, remember something for me.”   
“Kay?”   
“He’ll always be your brother, but he’s not the same person he was when he left here.”   
Sans forced himself to absorb this and nodded.   
“Yeah I know. Thanks.”   
“I don’t understand why you’re thanking me, but you’re welcome.” He kissed Sans on the nasal bone and lifted him onto the floor. “See you in the morning.”

In the morning when Sans slid out of bed Papyrus was instantly awake.   
“WHAt timE Is iT?”   
“Early, I just need to do some prep. Go back to sleep.”   
“IN youR pAjAmaS?”   
“Huh? Yeah, why’d I get dressed any sooner than I have to? Heh.”   
“BROTher you arE inSufFeraBlE.”

Sans went downstairs to the kitchen before teleporting, just in case Papyrus was listening to his footsteps. This was part of his morning ritual now, he reflected darkly.

Starting up went smoothly. The old lady asked about his ‘Lovely Warm Friend.’ He gave a brief answer and she immediately shot back

>What’s wrong?

>nothin  
>I do have something else to tell you though.

>Well, don’t leave me in suspense.

>my brother’s back.

>Oh! That’s wonderful, is he alright?

>I can’t tell. yes? he’s the same guy.

>No he isn’t. Nobody is ever always the same.   
>Excuse the grammar, that was a bit off.

>he’s in the guard so that’s a thing now.

>Oh God.   
>Has he talked much?

>no. not yet. he was tired.

>Keep an eye on him and tell me what he sounds like, will you?

>his voice seems different.

>That makes sense.

Sans started to type, pulled his hands back and ran his fingers through each other, then bit one knuckle reflectively.

>do you know what they did to him?

>Obviously I wasn’t there, but I would guess they gave him the usual treatment. He’ll be a mess, he’s had all his thoughts ripped out and fed back to him with the Confederation stamp on them. Be gentle with him, OK? But don’t trust him, not until you’re absolutely certain. Different people take it different ways and there’s no way to know, absolutely no way, until it happens.

>thanks.

>Oh dear look at that I’ve blabbed for too long, play the music!   
>From what you’ve told me he’s a strong boy. I’m sure he’ll be alright eventually. Just don’t rush him, and don’t do anything foolish.

>aye-aye. music is go.

Sans listened for the day’s song, still flexing his fingers tensely. When the music started, the first few notes were so soft that he almost didn’t notice them. It was piano music, a haunting, sleepy tune that rose and fell in gentle waves like the waves on a pond. Sans smiled and leaned back in his chair.

>Debussy, Reverie. Tell me how your friend likes it.

>will do, thanks so much. It’s pretty.

Sans wasn’t sure where to teleport. Papyrus might still be in his room. If he’d left, where might he be? After a moment of consideration, Sans came to a decision, closed his eyes, and teleported into Grillbz’ room.   
It was very quiet. He opened his eyes.   
He peeked into the hallway and found his room door neatly closed. Voices came from the direction of the kitchen. Sans started down the stairs and then ran back, realizing he hadn’t changed.   
So Papyrus was with Grillbz—oh. He’d missed the broadcast. Sans brushed aside his sadness and changed as quickly as he could.

“SANS!” said Papyrus as soon as he walked into the kitchen. He looked like he hadn’t slept well, Sans thought.   
“Mornin’ bro. S’good to see you.”   
“GrillbZ toLD me I shoUlD Stay wiTh You?”   
“Were you planning on leaving? I mean, I won’t stop you if you want to, but I’d rather you not. You just got back.”   
“welL AlrighT. I, I gueSs It’s oK? i’ll neEd to ChEck.”   
“Naturally,” said Grillbz, beginning to flip a row of eggs. “How many for you, Sans?”   
“Two.”   
“Boring.” Grillbz finished flipping the eggs, and reached for two more.   
“He eaTs too much,” remarked Papyrus, then flinched. “I’M sorRY! I MeAN I Don’T CAre, iT doESn’T mATTeR?”   
Grillbz laughed and shrugged.   
“I mean you’re not wrong.”

There was a brisk and unnecessarily loud knock on their door while they were cleaning up from breakfast. It was Undyne, and Sans was instantly relieved. He didn’t know her very well, but he’d heard good things. She was a Captain, the highest-ranking Monster in the Guard, and she was obsessed with ‘order,’ constantly saying that things would be better for everyone if the humans and monsters could just cooperate. She seemed to believe it too. Possibly a bit insane, but it wasn’t a bad kind. She held her monsters to a high standard but as long as they lived up to it she didn’t abuse them. She talked with them briefly, and brushed off Papyrus’ questions about staying with Sans and Grillbz with a “yeah I kinda figured.”   
“So it’S oKAy?”   
“Yep. Come along, kid.”

They watched the two of them leave, Papyrus trotting at Undyne’s heels, occasionally looking back at them. Grillbz rested a hand on Sans’ shoulder, pulling him close.   
“I missed the broadcast,” he said regretfully.    
“Heh.”   
“...I didn’t tell him.”   
“I know. I never meant to.”   
“No, not about that, about us.”   
“What about—oh. Oh geez. Oh yeah. I should probably tell him.”   
“You’ll do it?”   
“Yeah I should, heh, I’m his brother. Oh man. What do I say?”   
“Hm. ‘Hey, Papyrus, your two favorite people fell in love while you were gone.’?”   
“...I don’t know if I can say that.”   
“Why not?”   
Sans looked up at him and grinned.   
“Eh don’t get me wrong egg-warmer, I’m not ashamed of you, I just.. dunno how to explain that to Papyrus.”   
“He’s not a child, Sans.”   
“I know! I just can’t imagine looking him in the face and aaagh. Telling him. It’s not something I’ve done before. Give me a couple days to get used to it, I’m still adjusting to him being back, and now I have to think of what to say.”   
Grillbz kneaded his shoulder, smiling.   
“Alright.”  His smile darkened. “...you may have a point, it might upset him to find out too quickly. He needs to feel comfortable first.”   
“So no smoochies in front of the lil bro.”   
“...I would assume not? Why, were you planning on it?”   
“Not particularly, no, but I can put ‘gross out Papyrus with PDA’ on my bucket list if you’d like.”  
“Our bucket list, hopefully, assuming you don’t go find some other PDA partner.”   
“As if. You are literally the hottest guy I know.”   
Grillbz gave a disappointed sigh, but he was grinning.

It took Sans more than a couple days. They adjusted quickly to having a household of three again. Papyrus was out on patrol most days, sometimes into the night, but it was good to have him back when he was there, although he seemed nervous and flighty. Sans hoped he’d be able to calm down soon. He didn’t know how to help him.

Sunday he was out on his usual buying run, chatting with Lucy—a fluffy white dog he’d known since they moved to Twelve—when he noticed one of the human Guards staring at him. He was standing with Markin, one of the regulars at the diner, but Sans barely recognized him. He’d been there once or twice, maybe, he thought, with others. He mentally ran over what he’d been saying to Lucy, trying to decide if he’d said anything risky. No, it had all been completely innocuous.   
“Y’think they’re watching me?” he said quietly, slipping it in at the end of an anecdote about the annoying crows that had moved into the neon letters of the noodle house. Lucy laughed and nodded, not missing a beat.   
“Oh yes.”   
“Cool. Thanks—I’d better get back, then, before I start dropping eggs, Gribz might not be eggstatic about that. Seeya.”   
He slung his carry strap over his shoulder and started down the street with his load thumping against his femur. The air was smoky with a haze of dust particles from the plains beyond the fence mixed with ice and freezing steam which hung sluggishly in the cold air. He wondered if they were following him. If they were, the best thing he could do would be to pretend he didn’t know. He couldn’t teleport. They’d catch up with him eventually, and then they’d know he had magic and things would be ten times worse for him. He kept walking at a slow, easy pace.   
He was about fifty yards down the street, and starting to hope he was OK, when two taller forms appeared close behind him. He stopped and glanced up at Markin, smiling.   
“Heya.”   
“You’re under arrest.”   
“Ah geez, really?”   
He set his bags down and tried to think of a handcuffs joke to distract himself from his rising panic.

It was late evening when Papyrus knocked on the door to the diner, and it opened almost immediately. Grillbz wasn’t looking at his face at first, more at the level of his lower ribcage, then he looked up, visibly disappointed.   
“Oh. Hello.”   
He stepped aside and Papyrus silently came inside, feeling shamed.   
“Did you see Sans?” asked Grillbz, and Papyrus forgot everything else.   
“nO. He’S NoT bACk YEt?”   
Grillbz shook his head.   
“He’s been gone for more than four hours.” Papyrus stared. Grillbz forced a faint chuckle. “He’s probably talking to someone, he... loves to talk.”   
Papyrus didn’t say anything to this. A moment later, they both jumped at a knock on the door. It was Lucy.   
“Did Sans get back?” she asked.   
“No,” said Grillbz, “Why, did you see him?”   
“Yes, I was talking to him before he started back, but that was hours ago. Some of the humans were looking at him funny.”   
“Humans. What kind of humans, kid punks or Guards?”   
“Guards.”   
Grillbz made a distracted motion with his hand, then turned and half-sprinted into the back. Papyrus was staring at Lucy.   
“thEy ToOK HiM?”   
“I mean..” she wrung her paws. “I don’t know? I didn’t see, I was trying to keep an eye on them but then they disappeared while I wasn’t looking. It did look like they were following him. And, I don’t know where else he’d be...”   
Grillbz reappeared, yanking his coat on over his arms, and blazed past them out into the night, leaving Papyrus with a vacant look and Lucy shouting “where are you going?!”

He didn’t know. He didn’t know where they had taken him, and if he did, what would he do, go stand outside a window and get shot? But he stayed outside, searching every street Sans might have taken in case he’d just sidetracked and gotten delayed somehow, until his body ached with the cold, then slowly headed back, telling himself Sans might be there, with Papyrus, safe. Not alone and completely cut off from help and abandoned in some darkened cell where he’d never find him.   
When he got back the diner lights were still on. Papyrus was sitting in a corner, staring down at his hands, which were folded on the tabletop in front of him. Grillbz shut the lights off and coaxed him upstairs.


	7. Conscious

Sans remembered.

“WHAT DID YOU JUST DO!?” Gaster screamed down at him, where he was kneeling in a corner of the basement room. Gaster had formed a magic bone and struck at Sans with it, and Sans had broken it before it reached him with one of his own bullets.  
“...nothin?”  
“DO YOU HAVE MAGIC OR DON’T YOU?” he formed another bone.  
“no? maybe, haha,” said Sans, blocking a second time. Then he got up and tried to run for the door. Suddenly he was dodging a moving labyrinth of bones. The door was blocked. He backed into another corner and Gaster appeared in front of him, still screaming.  
“Wait so do I just let you hit me?” he asked, ducking under the bone. His soul was racing. This was... not normal.  
Gaster’s hand caught him under the chin, yanked him off his feet and pinned him against the wall.  
“DO YOU HAVE MAGIC OR NOT?”  
“No!”  
“DO YOU HAVE MAGIC!”  
“I don’t!”  
Gaster flung him down in front of another wave of moving bones. Sans, remembering that he didn’t have magic, covered his head with his arms and closed his eyes. The bones punched through him, he felt the magic tug at his soul. Then all was quiet.  
“We’re done,” said Gaster, and he heard him leave.  
Sans looked at his arms, then stood up. He was unhurt. He crawled into the main basement and found Gaster sitting on the floor with his head between his knees, taking deep breaths.  
“Um. What was that?”  
Gaster raised his head and his expression was firm.  
“That was good, at least the second time. You need to remember you can do that. The next time it won’t be me, and it will hurt. You need to remember not to fight back. You _can’t_ fight back. For as long as we’re in there—or you’re with them— _you don’t have magic._ ”  
“But why didn’t it hurt?”  
Gaster smiled.  
“Have I taught you nothing? FIGHT magic needs intent.”  
“Yeah but those were real bullets!”  
Gaster stretched out his hand and formed a small bone bullet above it, pointing toward Sans. Sans walked closer and cupped his hands around it. He felt the energy fluctuate—five, ten, then one damage. Then it sank to a neutral hum.  
“Take it,” said Gaster, and Sans pressed the bone between his hands, feeling a shock of energy through his hands for a moment before it disintegrated. No damage.  
“Huh. I didn’t realize you could do that.”  
“It takes practice.” Gaster stood with a grunt and dusted his coat off. “Promise me you’ll remember this because I never want to do it again. Also you’ll know I won’t hurt you this time so the effect is ruined.”  
“I promise.”  
“Good. Let’s never do that again, hey?” he chuckled. It turned into a choke.  
“Ice cream?” said Sans.  
“Ice cream,” said Gaster.  
The post-training ice cream sessions had become an informal part of the ritual, and at some point had turned into an eating competition. Sans was catching up, to his pride—that accomplishment wasn’t nothing, Gaster could put away a vast amount of ice cream. Sans was pretty sure he’d heard him mumble something about drowning his guilt once when he remarked on it.

He had only recently began bringing Sans down there. The safe room was in the basement, thickly insulated and sealed against sound and magic leakage, concealed behind a row of shelves stocked with assorted pickles.  
Ever since Sans could remember, Gaster had drilled him on how to respond to questions—about his magic, what his dad did, what his friends were like. Especially about his magic, though. His earliest understanding had been that his magic was a very very important secret, and he had to keep it that way. It would be a game, just between the two of them; no one else could know or he’d ruin the game. Later Gaster explained that some people didn’t like magic for some reason, and so if Sans let anyone see him using magic he might get hurt. Papyrus would be in trouble too. Then slowly he learned the full truth.  
Two years before, when he was ten, Gaster had first brought him down here, made Sans kneel in a corner and interrogated him, shouting this time, interrupting him when he tried to answer and repeating questions. It lasted only half an hour the first time. After that the sessions replaced the usual drills.  
It was terrifying and disorienting, but Gaster never shouted at him outside of the safe room so Sans was able to mentally isolate it as a necessary part of his training, which Gaster told him it was. Sans sensed that the sessions were harder on Gaster than on him, and that was reassuring. He never broke, though he did start crying a few times: the first time, after they were done, instead of leaving and waiting for Sans to join him, Gaster picked him up and carried him out of the room, then sat on the floor by the pickle shelves hugging him tightly. He was shaking, and continued shaking even after Sans had stopped crying.

Sans stared up into a white light and counted all the promises he’d made in his life. He was soaking wet. Now and then a shiver passed through his body, arched backwards over a chair with hands cuffed to the back. He could faintly hear the humans talking in another room.  
He’d passed the first round of questioning almost without conscious mental effort. He knew how to respond to questions. Now he was remembering Gaster, faintly, in fading flashes that he doubted even as he looked at them. The colors of that world were too bright and warm, he could barely believe he had ever belonged to them.  
His spine was aching, a persistent sharp ache slowly growing in intensity that sent another involuntary twitch or two through his body. Trying to ignore it, he thought about Grillbz and Papyrus instead, eating dinner without him, hoping he’d appear and slowly realizing that he wouldn’t. He wondered if Grillbz would wait up for him, in case he came home. Home, huh. When had the diner become home? It undeniably was now. Especially with Papyrus back. Dang, he ought to have told Papyrus that he and Grillbz were a thing. It could only get more awkward the longer he waited. He could be kinda stupid sometimes.  
...What time _was_ it? Was it too much to hope that they’d let him go before morning, and he could do the broadcast as normal? He was sure they didn’t know anything yet, but if the broadcasts stopped the day after he was arrested it’d be hard for them to miss the implications.

Late that night Papyrus woke to a gentle light in the room and rolled over to look at Sans’ bed. Grillbz, still fully clothed, was lying there with his back to him.  
Papyrus slid out of bed and stood behind him. He was hugging Sans’ pillow tightly, face pressed into the fabric. His eyes were open, and he looked far from sleep. He turned to look at him and Papyrus saw the pain in his face. Papyrus sat on the side of the bed and squeezed his upper arm.  
“MAyBE hE’Ll COmE BAcK. I dID.”  
Grillbz hid his face in the pillow.  
Papyrus heard him leave the room later in the night and pace up and down in the hall. When he woke again it was almost morning and Grillbz had disappeared entirely. Papyrus hoped he wasn’t doing anything dangerous.

“Let him breathe, the little shit’s not that strong. These things are easy to dust.”

It had to be morning. This was the only thought left in Sans’ mind and it fizzled in and out like a dying bulb. What time was it? Would he know? Did they know?  
_He was innocent, he hadn’t done anything, he had no magic, he was innocent._  
If he teleported back to the diner could he convince both Grillbz and Papyrus to run with him? Where could they go? He couldn’t teleport to places he’d never been, and he’d never been outside the fence.  
He heard radio static. Someone in the next room had switched on a radio. He waited for them to switch to one of their stations, but they appeared to be waiting.  
They don’t know, he told himself over the static. Anything could have happened. They don’t know it’s you. It’s not you. Maybe you can kill yourself with one of dad’s blasters before they get back? Don’t do that, they’ll just go after Grillbz and Papyrus.  
Suddenly he was hearing music. Someone adjusted the radio and swore.  
He knew that song, it was by Gorillaz. Was he dying? Gorillaz was absolutely banned. The Confederation had a special hatred for the band and he and the old lady made sure to play Feel Good Inc. on Confederation holidays as a special ‘fuck you.’ This song had a softer sound and an almost chirping beat.

 _Up on melancholy hill_  
_There's a plastic tree_  
 _Are you here with me_  
 _Just looking out on the day_  
 _Of another dream_

Melancholy Hill. One of his favorites. He had to be dreaming, and he waited to wake up, wondering why, if he were dreaming such a nice dream in other respects, he couldn’t also dream that the pain was gone and he was free to lie down and relax his body.  
The song ended. He waited, staring into the light.

“Heya. Legendary fartmaster here in the confederacy of niceness and non-torture and kittens. How are you doin? Weather is perfectly cloudy with a 10% chance of assholes and a 26% chance of soul-crushing propaganda. Which is why you should stay inside and listen to your radio instead. 99% guaranteed to be not-soul-crushing. Just mildly irritating.”

That was his voice. Sans lay listening in shock.

“Which reminds me, quick trivia: what kinda creature can function both as a fuzzy pet and as a decorative ceiling support? A cat-er-pillar.”  
Sans gave a faint, painful snort. That was great.  
The broadcast continued to the end, and he listened in fascination to his own voice. Maybe the old lady had someone in reserve and hadn’t told him. He’d have to ask her, when he got back.  
Just before they switched off the radio he thought he heard someone say “it’s not him, but I see what you mean about the voice.”

It was another five days before they let him go, but after that he knew he’d be alright. The broadcast played as normal each morning. He listened intently for any tells that it was another person speaking, and that he hadn’t just somehow, unconsciously, made spare recordings of himself on equipment he was sure he didn’t have. Minor things—inflection, transition between ideas—made him wonder, but he was never quite sure. He might have said something like that. Hard to tell.  
Finally one evening he was led to an ordinary cell with a cot, where he slept like a dead monster until Markin shook him awake.  
“Hey,” he said. “You’ve been released. Sorry about this, stupid mix-up.”  
Sans nodded and followed him out, not quite believing even as they gave him back his clothes (complete with packets of emergency ketchup, a tiny flashlight and a whole pancake in the pockets) and steered him out the door and into a dark car. He panicked a little then. He’d caught only a brief glimpse of hazy golden light, no way to tell where they were or where they were actually taking him. Then the car stopped and Markin helped him out and they were standing across from the diner. He took a moment to straighten his vest before walking across.  
The diner was bustling with the usual morning rush. A few heads turned as he came in.  
“Sans?”  
“Hey, Sans!”  
“See? I told you he’d be fine!”  
Suddenly it seemed the whole room was staring at him. Sans waved with his usual grin and looked at Steve, who was regarding him over the rim of his coffee cup.  
“Mornin.”  
“Hey. How are you?”  
“Happy as a flapjack,” said Sans, picking up Steve’s empty plate. He stifled a scream. He’d forgotten he had broken fingers.  
“Hell does that mean?”  
“Dunno, but it’s true.”  
He pushed into the back, Markin following and offering to take the plate, and slid it onto the counter with the other dirty plates. Grillbz was at the griddle with his back to them. He turned as Sans put the plate down and froze, spatula in the air.  
“Heya,” said Sans. “I’m back.”  
 Grillbz stared at him. Sans registered that there were pancakes which needed turning. He nudged around Grillbz and took the spatula away from him. Grillbz’ hand landed firmly on his shoulder, as if checking that he was real. Sans awkwardly scraped the first pancake free, holding the spatula between his palms, and flipped it. It slapped sadly down with an edge over the pancake next to it.  
“Ow. Oops.”  
Grillbz took the spatula back, quickly flipped the rest of the pancakes and then turned Sans around and knelt in front of him.  
“You’re back.”  
“Huh, yeah. It’s good to see you.”  
“Are you alright?”  
“As alright as can be expected.” Sans held up his fingers and grinned. Grillbz visibly cringed, took his hands and looked closely at them. “Hey! It’s alright, I’m alright.”  
“...”  
Grillbz stood, tossed the pancakes onto a plate, and handed it to Markin.  
“Here.”  
“Uh, OK?” Markin went out into the diner. Grillbz held out his arms. Sans leaned into them and Grillbz gently lifted him and carried him upstairs.  
“Hey. Where are we going?”    
“You need to rest.”  
“You’ll be OK without me?”  
“I think I can survive another day.”  
“Well, good. I do feel kinda awful.”  
“You look it.”  
“Thanks a lot.”    
Grillbz sat him on the bed and brought him his pajamas, then politely averted his eyes while Sans changed. Sans pushed up his sleeve over his new tattoo.  
“Hey. I’m decent, look. Now we match.”  
Grillbz looked for several moments with a blank expression, then bent and kissed the stained bone.  
“Did Gaster tell you?”  
“Nope. I saw your tattoo once when you were changing.”  
“..When were you in my room while I was changing?”  
“Few years ago. When Paps and I were first living with you.”  
“Oh, that’s right.” he smiled. “It seems like forever ago but it wasn’t that long at all.”  
Sans pulled his sleeve back down and fought a powerful urge to slump down and close his eyes. For a moment he wondered how to ask about Grillbz’ own tattoo, the question between star or dash still seemed important, but then he decided it wasn’t. He trusted Grillbz now, and his interest in the past was fading. But as it turned out he didn’t have to ask. Grillbz itched at his sleeve above the tattoo with a meditative look, then said  
“I think the reason it’s blank is because they didn’t bother designating elementals. If you’d been arrested, then either you were killed in prison, or they broke you well enough that they felt you wouldn’t be a threat. If you had a tattoo and you were alive it meant you broke. And I broke.”  
“Y’don’t look very broken to me,” said Sans, yawning. Grillbz helped him lie down and pulled the covers over him.  
“That’s because you helped me pull myself together, beautiful punster. Do you need anything?”  
“Nah...”  
Sans was asleep within seconds. It must have been hours later when Papyrus woke him.  
“YOu’RE ALiVE!!”  
“Hey bro. S’good to see you.” Papyrus lifted him, still wrapped in the covers, and hugged him, crying. Sans noticed his slacks draped across the bottom of the bed. He pawed them closer to him, fished the pancake out of a pocket and began eating it. Papyrus wiped his eyes and looked at him in confusion.  
“..SAns. WHerE DiD THaT CoME fROm?”  
“Pockets bro.”  
“HAs THAt bEeN IN THERe sINCe yOU LEFt?”  
“Yep. Good thing monster food doesn’t spoil heh?”  
“THIS ISn’T MONsTER foOD! It’S FAkE PEoPLE FOOd!”  
“Oh really? Well it looks alright, maybe the Crisco petrifies it a little.”  
Grillbz appeared in the doorway with a tray.  
“HE’s EATInG A FIvE-DaY-OLD PanCAKE!” shouted Papyrus. Grillbz frowned at Sans, who was scarfing down the last shreds of pancake.  
“Please don’t. I brought you real food.”  
“Aw thanks, you didn’t have to do that.”  
“YES WE DID. JoiNT DEcISION, WE’rE EAtING In HERE. WITh YOU.”  
“That reminds me, I couldn’t get the other tray. Papyrus, do you think you could”  
“YEP! GlADLy!”  
Papyrus gave Sans another squeeze—Sans made a creaking sound, rediscovering how sore his joints were—and then bounded out of the room. Grillbz set the tray down and sat on the side of the bed near Sans.  
“Don’t worry about the broadcast,” he whispered. Sans nodded.  
“I know! They played it in the next room, I heard it.”  
“Oh.” Grillbz looked up at a crashing sound and WHOOPSIE!!! From downstairs, followed by footsteps on the stairs. “I’m glad,” he said quickly, then stood and busied himself with unloading the tray he’d brought. A moment later Papyrus reentered in a rush.  
“I MaY HAVe DEnTEd A pOt. SOrRY.”  
“Don’t worry, it doesn’t matter,” said Grillbz.

 Sans went back to sleep immediately after dinner. He woke in the morning when he heard the faint sound of a door closing across the hall.  
He slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Papyrus (who was sleeping with his arms and legs going four different directions and all his covers on the floor), and went into the hall. Grillbz was just at the head of the stairs. He paused and waited for him.  
“And where’re you off to so early, handsome?” whispered Sans. Grillbz gave a mysterious half-smile.  
“Come see.”  
They went into the storage room, and Sans saw immediately that some boxes had been rearranged to hide the loose section of boards. Grillbz lifted up the loose section and dropped down onto a crate he’d placed in the wine cellar for that purpose. He looked up.  
“Coming?”  
“Catch me.”  
Grillbz reached up and Sans jumped into his arms. The dusty floor below them was scuffed clear in a track leading back to the broadcasting room.  
“So it was you doing the broadcast. I thought I was going insane.”  
“No. It was me. There wasn’t anyone else.”  
“How’d you get my voice so well?”  
“I don’t know, I wasn’t sure if I could do it. But I’ve listened to you a lot.” He smiled. “I was.. so scared, actually, that I wouldn’t be able to do it and—I don’t know, but I knew I had to try, because otherwise it’d be worse for you.”  
“It was perfect. Kinda disorienting to listen to actually. But I think you saved my life.”  
“Oh God that’s what I was afraid of. Thank God I was convincing enough.”  
“You really were, my sparks.” Sans squeezed him reassuringly.  
“Yeah... I’m so glad you’re back.”  
They climbed into the broadcast room, where everything was as Sans had left it. They checked and cleaned the generator because Grillbz was concerned he hadn’t done it well enough while Sans was gone. There were no problems.  
“Do you want to do the broadcast?” said Grillbz. “I can do it again if you’d rather not.”  
“Only if you want to.”  
“I don’t really, I think you’re better at it.”  
“OK cool. Can you do the typing though?”  
“Definitely.”  
Sans sat on Grillbz’ lap as Grillbz looked over his shoulder to type

>Guess who’sk here?

>Legendary Fartmaster the First?!

>Yesp. -Yep. He’s pretty OK he says.

“Do you not know how to use delete?” said Sans. “Or backspace?”  
Grillbz made an embarrassed sound.  
“Look, _some_ of us haven’t been able to practice our typing skills every day on illegal machinery.”  
“Is that why you’re just typing with your index fingers?”  
“Do you want me to do it or not?!”  
Sans laughed.

>So who’s on for today?

>The First. No more hot air.

>Haha! I must say I love your designation. Oh, and if I may presume, I think I know who you are!

>..Who?

>Tall, warm, flame affinity. You’re a dragon!

Grillbz made a puffing sound and Sans laughed out loud.  
“I mean that’s pretty close.”  
“Mhmm.”  
“I think elementals are cooler than dragons,” said Sans. Grillbz smiled.  
“I ah... oh. Thank you.”

>Well? Am I right or am I right? (don’t tell me either way, leave me in my delusion)!

>That’s not a basd guess. Maybe somedays thigs will get better and I can introduce you. -the First

Sans dictated.

>Oh, that would be lovely!

>Here’s hoping, then.s

>I look forward to it. Get ready to play the song.

Sans held the headset up so he and Grillbz could both hear the music.

_I was left to my own devices  
Many days fell away with nothing to show_

“Pompeii,” said Sans happily. Grillbz raised an eyebrow.  
“Petrified bodies...?”  
“Nah it’s a song by Bastille.”

_And the walls kept tumbling down  
In the city that we love_

“A song about petrified dead people written by a French jail. Perfect.”  
“You are unexpectedly well-educated for a citizen of this country.”  
“You talked about this song once before. I was listening.”  
“Really! You’re right, I kinda remember that.” Sans kissed him. “I think you remember more about what I’ve said than I do myself.”  
“Perhaps you don’t realize how very fascinating you are,” said Grillbz, pulling him in for another kiss. Sans nuzzled in close, only pulling away when he heard the song winding down.  
“Alright, quiet in the recording room,” he said. “And don’t distract me.”  
“I’ll try.”  
Grillbz sat very straight and Sans slipped his headset on.  
“Good morning all, it’s Legendary Fartmaster again and it’s a beautiful day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I promised to upload this here and then only did half of it. It was already completed I just. Failed to transfer all the chapters over. Sorry. It's here now! Back to our regular scheduling (read: complete lack of.) Oh also. THAT UPDATE THO? DELTA RUNE?? WHATCHU THINK OF THAT DELTA RUNE MMMMM

**Author's Note:**

> \--Well this ~is~ a dystopian fic, yeees?~ ….Hmm yes, Papyrus. I wonder, where is that little ray of sunshine?-- 
> 
> also 
> 
> I CAN'T BELIEVE I JUST. PROMISED TO UPLOAD THIS HERE AND THEN WENT 'EH IT'S ON TUMBLR IT'S FINE' AND NEVER FINISHED IT. I'M SORRY HERE'S THE REST I FINALLY REMEMBERED
> 
> also wow this is from before I convinced myself to start paragraphing more
> 
> ALSO- *EDIT* - apparently I posted chapters in an order that didn't make sense, FIXING THAT NOW


End file.
